


The Little Mermaid (Éponine x Cosette AU)

by hayjolras



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - The Little Mermaid, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 23:09:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayjolras/pseuds/hayjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Éponine longs for a human form she she can walk the shores with her love, Cosette. And she'll do anything to make that happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little Mermaid (Éponine x Cosette AU)

Far out in the sea, the water is its clearest and most beautiful, though it’s waves are rough and deadly. But the sea of also very deep -- deeper than any human could hope to see, and even in their deepest of sleeps, they could never dream of such a place down beneath the waves on which they sail their ships.

It is here where the mermaids live.

Down below, where those mortal eyes cannot see rests the land of the sea folk, with beautiful trees whose branches swayed with the current, grand palaces made of shell and pearl, beautiful gardens where fish flit from plant to plant, the way butterflies do to our daisies or roses.

In the deepest nook of the sea, with the most beautiful of trees, biggest and richest of gardens, and tallest palace made of only the finest pearl, lived the sea king. He was a widow, and had been for some time, his wife being killed by a group of sailors who had ventured upon her resting on a rock in the warm summer sun. Because of this, he was distrustful of any creature who was able to roam above the kingdom over which he foresaw, and made it a point to protect his three children from it.

The eldest, however, had always been inquisitive as to the world above, and constantly asked her school friends about the land on which she could not dwell. Éponine was her name, and she had long, golden hair the color of the sun she so longed to get a better glimpse of, wide, curious eyes the color of the sea in which she roamed, and pallid skin. Her tail was a deep green, in stark contrast to her fellow merpeople, who were used to seeing bright, bold, eye-catching shades for fins. She was loud and brash and had a distinctive laugh that let the seafolk know when she was around, and she constantly looked after her younger sister and brother -- who were rebellious in their own right -- going out to shipwrecks or, every so often, rising above the water simply to use their gift of song to lure sailors to their watery graves (though their eldest sister need not know about those outings).

Luckily for Éponine, her closest friends were allowed up to the surface of the water when they turned 15, and when they did, they always came back with stories. Enjolras, the oldest of the group, with long blonde hair and a tail the color of blood, enjoyed swimming close to the palaces, where kings and presidents and emperors would hold meetings about the states which they overlooked. Combeferre, the second oldest, went just about everywhere to soak up everything about the human world he could lay eyes on, though he was wary about the humans themselves, as fascinating as they were. Courfeyrac, with his playful manner, saw some children playing in the creek where he dared to swim to, but when he tried to get closer, they took fright and ran away, much to his chagrin. Jehan, with the tail the color of coral, had recalled going up to watch the sunset, describing the warm oranges and yellows and reds of the sky so richly that Éponine demanded he tell it at least once every week.

And so it went like that, and Éponine, in her longing to see the world above, would mull over these stories in her head at night as she opened her window to get a better view of the moon which hovered right over her window for a portion of the night. When it was blocked out, she knew a ship or some big creature had blocked it out, and she would stretch out her pale arms. She almost believed that if she reached a little further, closed her eyes a little tighter, she could break the surface of the water and see all the things her friends had seen.

It wound up being her good friend, Grantaire, who suggested she go to the surface when she turned fifteen, like they had.

“Just tell your dad you’re going one place, and then go there and see for yourself,” Grantaire had suggested as they roamed the gardens of Éponine’s palace. “Besides,” he added thoughtfully, “once you go once, you won’t want to go again. There’s nothing all that special about it.”

Éponine scoffed and punched his shoulder gently, wondering why she hadn’t done it before. If Azelma and Gavroche, her two younger siblings, could go to shipwrecks, why couldn’t she rise to the surface?

So a few months later, when everyone in the castle was fast asleep and none the wiser, she opened her window and, instead of reaching out for the surface, she swam for it, quick as she could, letting her blonde hair tangle behind her as she pushed herself towards the light given off by the moon.

When she broke the surface, it was cool and a bit misty, and she had to take several deep breaths in order to get used to the feeling of the summer air in her lungs. Once she did, she glanced up at the moon and watched the stars twinkle and sparkle in the dark sky. It reminded her of the pearls that shone when the moon would cast a beam through her bedroom window -- shiny and bright and beautiful.

After a few minutes, she heard voices and felt the water being disturbed, and she rotated in the water to see a ship coming towards her. She ducked quickly into the water, watching the bottom of the boat move, and move, and then come to an abrupt halt.

Assured that the ship would not move again, she swam towards it and peeked onto the ship. Here she saw people -- many people, dancing and singing on the deck, their voices loud and cheerful.

The loudest of them all was a young girl who looked no older than Éponine. She had tan skin, and chestnut colored hair. People kept walking (walking!) over to her and hugging her tightly, kissing her on the cheek or clasping her hands, and Éponine realized, through the shouts, that this was the girls birthday celebration. She watched, mystified, as the girl took the hand of a young man and began to dance with him, so light and gracefully that Éponine felt her heart flutter as she watched, unable to hear the music or feel the waves rising and falling gently around her. This was the first time Éponine had ever really seen humans before, but she was absolutely certain that this girl was the prettiest and most graceful of them all, and she felt a sting of jealousy as she took another man’s hand and began to dance with him, and, when the song was over, she skipped back over to a group of giggling girls, whispering to them in a huddled circle.

The ship suddenly began to move again, and Éponine swam a few meters back, aware of the storm that was headed their way, for merpeople can feel a storm coming long before humans can hear it.

And hear it they did. Thunder rolled and boomed like a canon fired into the sky, and the shipped lurched as lightning flashed, lighting up the sky for a mere second, then gone again, leaving behind the rumblings of the promise of another boom of thunder.

Éponine watched as the humans on the ship began to panic as she felt the waves grow rougher and harsher. The people on board were rocked, then practically thrown, from side to side, and Éponine caught sight of the dancing girl for a moment before she was thrown overboard by a particularly forceful wave.

Éponine swam about, looking to find the girl, happy that the girl would remain with her, under the sea. As she caught sight of the girl underwater, though, she remembered that the only way humans could ever be brought home with her was if they were dead. And Éponine certainly did not want this pretty girl dead.

So she darted back into the rough sea and managed to grab the girl underneath her arms, swimming as hard as her fins would allow, and pulled her to the surface, swimming to the closet rock she could manage to find, and rested the young girl on it.

The girl was pale and ghostly looking, and on top of that her eyes were shut. She was also cold -- so cold that Éponine took one of the girls’ hands in between her own and rubbed it fiercely, trying to restore her heat. As the storm calmed as the day broke, the girl was warmer, her breathing steadier, and her cheeks pinker.

Éponine had saved her life.

As the sun began to rise, Éponine took the girl off the rock, and swam to shore with her. Éponine approached the shore timidly, looking around, amazed, at the sights. Before her was a palace, much like her own, but it was not made of pearls or shells. Still, it was just as tall and just as magnificent. She could see people walking past the windows, out the doors and through the gardens, though they were not laughing or joyous -- they look scared and uneasy.

“They must be looking for this girl,” Éponine said quietly to herself, so she swam towards one of the big rocks near the shoreline and placed the girl upon it, kissing her wet forehead gingerly and placing a hand to her cheek.

“You will live,” Éponine whispered into the girl’s ear. She had to duck behind a sand dune as she watched a group of children approach the shoreline, and they were laughing and playing and splashing each other with water. One of them, a young girl, saw the girl on the rock, looked frightened for a moment, but then began to call for help.

“The princess!” the girl screeched. “She’s alive! She’s here!”

“The princess?” Éponine muttered quizzically, watching as humans approached frantically. With all the commotion, the princess woke up, looking around, befuddled by what was transpiring around her.

“Well then,” she said quietly, “she’s just like me. I wonder if she’s as lonely as I.”

Assured that the princess would be okay, Éponine swam back to her home at the very bottom of the sea.

No one seemed to notice that Éponine had been gone, her father thinking that she had just woken up early and had gone to play with her friends. But when she set out again with her sister, she heard someone calling her name.

She turned to see that it was Montparnasse, and she swam over reluctantly, aware of the tricks he normally played on the other merfolk.

“I saw you swimming back from the shoreline,” he said slyly, grinning at Éponine.

Éponine shook her head. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. Azelma,” she said to her sister as she took her hand, “come.”

Montparnasse swam in front of them, though, stopping them. “I overheard your friends talking about you going up there, so I waited for you to come home -- you saved the  human princess, didn’t you?”

“Éponine!” Azelma said angrily. “You saved a human, after what they did --”

“It wasn’t the same humans!” Éponine cried, casting a furtive look at Montparnasse. “It was a girl, a young girl -- you won’t tell, will you, Azelma?”

Azelma looked from Montpanarsse to Éponine, hesitating to reply. “Of course not, sister,” she said quietly. “I won’t tell.”

“I know where she lives,” Montparnasse said carefully, eyeing Éponine. “I can take you there --”

“You can’t go back!” Azelma protested. “Once was dangerous enough --”

Éponine appeared to ignore her sister, though. “Take me. Tonight.”

“As the sea princess wishes,” Montparnasse said, swimming away.

Azelma, of course, did not like the idea, but she still insisted that she come with Éponine, partly because she wanted to make sure her older sister would be alright, and because she was mildly curious about the princess herself. So Montparnasse took them -- after Éponine had paid, of course -- and after that one night, Éponine returned, again and again.

The princess had a balcony in her bedroom where she sat out during the night, looking out at the river that the balcony overlooked. This was where Éponine would boldly swim to -- no one else she knew had ever gotten so close before -- to hear the princess sing, or watch her read, or brush her hair, or talk to one of her handmaidens.

She listened to the handmaidens, as well, for they talked about the princess constantly. It was only good things they spoke of -- how kind and generous and funny the princess was, and Éponine thought it was wonderful that she had saved such a kind and beautiful girl from such an awful death.

Some time passed, though, and Éponine found that even going to watch the princess was no longer enough. She wanted to walk on land with the princess and feel her feet beneath the warm sand, or sit on the balcony and talk with the princess, and giggle and laugh as the princess did with her hand maidens.

She went back to Montpanarsse one day and asked him, “These humans -- what happens to them when they die?”

Montpanarsse smirked and looked to Éponine. “They have souls -- immortal souls, that live on long after death. But they live a lot shorter than we,” he scoffed, pulling apart the seaweed he held between his long fingers.

Éponine sighed. “I’d give up my three hundred years to have a soul.”

Montpanarsse furrowed his brow. “Don’t be silly. Three hundred years is long enough, and by then you’d be quite so happy to turn to sea foam and rest on the surface of the sea. Anyway,” he added, “there’s no way you can change it, so you’re better off accepting what cannot be -- well, there is one way --”

“How?” Éponine said eagerly.

“You’d have to get a human to fall in love with you, so much so that they love you more than their father and mother and took your hand in marriage. That way, you gain a soul, and the human still gets to keep theirs. But,” he said with a cruel laugh, “it’s nearly impossible.”

Éponine’s heart fell, for she knew the princess didn’t know her or of her existence, or that it was Éponine who had saved her life all those nights ago, and because Éponine could not walk among the princess’s kind, and because the princess could not swim to Éponine’s home, it could never be.

Disheartened, she swam back to the palace, where a party would take place there that night.

And what a grand party it was, with nearly half the kingdom in attendance, and the swam and ate and danced joyfully as they laughed and gossiped about each other, everyone donning their finest for the king and his children. Éponine was asked to sing, for she had the prettiest voice, both under the sea and above it, but Éponine was heartbroken, and she wanted to cry, but a mermaid cannot cry, so suffers more than any human would dare to imagine.

Unable to take the rest of the party, Éponine swam out of the palace and as far as she could go, as if trying to swim away from the heartbreak, and if she got far enough, she could finally produce the tears she so longed to feel upon her cheeks. But as she swam, she realized she was in an unfamiliar place. It was dark and there were discarded skeletons of humans and animals alike -- there was even a skeleton of a little mermaid, who the polyps must’ve tangled up.

“This,” thought Éponine, “must be where the sea witch lives.”

So instead of turning back, she grabbed her hair so the polyps couldn’t take hold, and swam straight through them, stopping only when she saw a palace made entirely of bones. In the palace sat the sea witch, old and ugly, with sea snakes for pets. She watched Éponine as she approached, then smiled a wide, terrible smile.

“Little princess,” the witch said in her old, hoarse voice. “I know why you are here. You want to go up to the land and be human, and make the lovely princess above fall in love with you.”

“Can you do it?” asked Éponine quietly.

The sea witch laughed a booming laugh. “Of course I can, my dear. Just a potion, is all. You must swim to the surface before daybreak and drink the potion, and when the sun rises, you will have legs instead of a tail, and you will be so pretty and graceful that everyone in the kingdom will know of your dancing. But be warned -- it will feel as if a sword has split you in two, and while you walk, every step you take will be as if you are walking on hot knives and broken glass. The pain will be so great that you think your feet must bleed. Are you willing?”

Éponine nodded eagerly. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

The sea witch grinned again. “Good. Now, to remain a human, and to gain the immortal soul you so wish to acquire, you must get the princess to fall in love with you, so much so that she is willing to leave her father and mother and allow the bishop to unite your hands in marriage. If you do not, and she finds another, you will turn to sea foam the morning after the wedding. When you take the potion,” she added, “you will never be able to become a mermaid ever again.”

But Éponine was so caught up in the daydream of a wedding to the beautiful princess that she didn’t mind the consequences. “I understand,” she said dreamily, looking to the sea witch with such hope that even the old woman felt her stone heart tremble a bit.

The sea witch set through with making the potion, adding this and that to it, and Éponine watched and the potion made all terrible shapes and forms and figures in the ocean, and Éponine nearly cried out when the old witch pricked herself and added her own blood to the solution, finishing it and pouring it into a clear vial, where it shone and glowed like the stars in the sky.

Éponine went to take it, but the sea witch pulled away. “We haven’t discussed payment yet. Since I give you legs, you must give me the best part of you.”

“What is that?”

“Your voice,” the sea witch said coldly, reaching out her hand to touch the girl’s throat.

“But if I can’t use my voice,” Éponine asked carefully, “how will I get the princess to love me?”

The sea witch laughed again. “Your feminine wiles, your graceful dancing, body language,” she said to the girl. “Do you want it, or not? Come, give me your tongue and I will cut it off, then.”

Éponine hesitated, then swam to the witch and stuck out her tongue, which the witch cut off with one stroke of her knife, leaving Éponine mute.

“Swim to shore and take the potion before the sun rise,” the witch said. “Upon the first beam of sun, you will be human.”

Éponine took the potion wordlessly, and swam towards the shore, giving her palace only one last glance as it glimmered beneath her, the party still underway. She thought of Azelma and Gavroche and all her friends who she would miss so dearly, and she thought of her father, who surely would hate her come morning. Forlornly, she made her way to the shore and rested herself upon a rock, drinking the vile in one swift motion.

The pain was instant, and it did feel as if a hot blade was splitting her in two, and the feeling came again, even more intensely, as the sun began to rise, casting it’s rays upon Éponine, and she laid on the rock as if dead, except for her tail, which was writhing, until the pain subsided.

She looked down, and to her amazement, her deep green fins were gone, and in its place where two long white legs, which she kicked about joyfully until she heard a voice.

“Miss? Miss? Are you alright?”

Éponine turned and saw, to her absolute delight, the princess on the shore, in a pretty blue dress with white trimming.

“You poor thing -- where did you come from?” the princess asked, stepping towards Éponine and reaching out a tentative hand for her to take. “A shipwreck, perhaps, oh! You must’ve lost your clothes in the storm. Come now,” she said sweetly, “I’ll take you to the castle.”

Éponine took the girls hand, and it was soft and a tad wet, as was the princess, from the cool mist that sprayed the shore. Éponine stepped off the rock, and when she did, she fell into the princess’s arms, feeling her feet burn as if someone had set fire to her soles.

“Are you alright? What is you name, sweet thing?” the princess asked as she held Éponine firmly.

But Éponine could not speak, so she merely put her hands to her throat, and the princess understood.

“You can’t talk! Oh, no, that’s too bad -- I’m Cosette, by the way,” she added, walking with Éponine. “We’ll be great friends, dear one. Come, let’s get you some clothes -- how strange! A storm taking off a girl’s dress!”

The two girls went to the castle, where Éponine was given a warm bath, delighted to be in water once again, but this time, without a tail, and Cosette came in to give her a pretty green dress to wear.

“I’m having some things made up for you, but for now, I think this should fit you, no?” Cosette said, laying the dress out in front of Éponine and smoothing her chestnut locks.

After the first day, the girls became the best of friends. Cosette took Éponine everywhere, had a riding outfit made up for her so she could learn had to horseback ride, took her out on the ships, where she would giggle as Éponine looked longingly out of the water, so much so that Cosette would remark, “You look as if you want to live in it!”

They would out at night on Cosette’s balcony, overlooking the river that Éponine used to occupy, and Cosette told her stories about the palace, or the kingdom, or the little things she was expected to do as a princess, and Éponine would watch, entranced by the way Cosette talked, the movements her mouth made and the gestures of her hands. Sometimes, Cosette would ask her to brush her hair, and Éponine would get lost, holding the brush and untangling the chestnut locks with her delicate fingers. Other times, Cosette would brush Éponine’s hair, singly softly, and Éponine wished she could join in, knowing that their voices would mix so perfectly together, creating the music of angels.

Éponine would help Cosette get dressed in the morning -- tie her corset, lay out her clothes, brush her hair, and then they’d walk down together, arm in arm as Cosette would whisper silly things into Éponine’s ear. Cosette’s nickname for Éponine, since she did not know her true name, was “little love”, and it rolled off Cosette’s tongue so prettily Éponine supposed that maybe that was her real name, after all.

Yet the princess did not fall in love with Éponine, as hard as Éponine might, so one day, before bed, she kissed Cosette on the cheek sadly, looking at her with her big blue eyes as if to ask, “Do you not love me most of all?”

Cosette took Éponine’s hands and squeezed them. “Of course I love you, little love. You are my dearest friend, and you remind me of the girl who saved me from drowning once. I remember her kissing my forehead and stroking my cheek, telling me I would live.”

As she told the story, Éponine thought of a million ways she could tell Cosette that that young girl had been she, and not some fantasy Cosette had dreamed up. And she longed to tell Cosette how she ever so badly wanted to kiss Cosette’s pink lips and mutter the tender words she so longed to say. But she could not, and she would go to her bed, night after night, and look down at her hands sadly, for she could not cry, after all.

They had a ball one night, which Cosette brought Éponine along to, and Cosette found, to her joy, that Éponine was just as good a dancer as she. They spun and spun and held hands as the other guests laughed, and they giggled as they watched each other, and Éponine was aware of the sting of her feet, but could not feel it, for the Cosette’s smile seemed to cure all her ailments -- except, of course, her broken heart. They both fell asleep in Cosette’s chamber that night, on her bed, their fingers intertwined. Before they fell asleep, though, Cosette leaned forward towards Éponine and kissed her gently on the lips, bidding her good night, and Éponine’s heart nearly stopped from the shock of it all.

She would go out to the shore sometimes so she could cool her burning feet in the ocean, and one night she saw her siblings and her friends rise above the water, watching her. They waved, and she waved back, and night after night, they would come to simply get a glimpse of Éponine to make sure she was okay. Her father even came one night, too, though he did not approach the shore. He looked sad, but he still waved, and Éponine waved back, missing her father but glad he did not despise her.

The kiss remained on Éponine’s lips for some weeks, and every night, before she would say good night to Cosette, they would share a good-night kiss, though they never went any further than the gentle brush of their lips. To Éponine, though, it was a start, and the kisses always lingered on her, a quiet, unseen promise. A reason to hope.

There came a time, though, when the queen and king finally talked of finding a partner for the princess, and there were rumors floating about that the lucky person would be a prince from a nearby kingdom. Those rumors were confirmed when Cosette was told she would travel to the kingdom to meet the prince to see if she liked him.

“Don’t you worry a bit, my little love,” she said to Éponine, tucking a blonde strand of Éponine’s hair carefully behind her ear. “I won’t have to marry him if I don’t like him, and I shall never love him. You are the only one in the world who reminds me so much of the girl who saved my life.”

But Éponine was uneasy, and at night she looked not at the sky, but at the seafoam that covered the surface on the ocean, her thoughts dwelling so deeply on death, for she was sure it would come.

Her suspicions where proven to come true when she went along with Cosette to the prince’s kingdom. She watched, resigned, as Cosette met the prince, and Cosette’s eyes lit up as if she could see for the very first time.

Éponine was not scared, nor horrified at the announcement of Princess Cosette and Prince Marius’s wedding date, for she had a feeling in the pit in her stomach for the longest time that this sort of things would be coming.

“I don’t know,” she listened to Cosette say as she brushed Cosette’s hair the night before the wedding. “He’s obviously not the girl who saved me, but, he’s just so different, and wonderful, and -- oh, don’t worry!” she said as she felt Éponine’s arms wrap around the middle, holding Cosette tight. “We’ll still be best friends, and we’ll still live here. Don’t worry, my little love,” she said, staring at their reflection in the middle. “Our kingdom will always be by the sea.”

The wedding day came. It was bright and beautiful and the sun was shining. Cosette wore white, and Éponine carried her train and stood next to her near the alter, and the morning of she had tied flowers into Cosette’s chestnut hair, decorating it for the occasion, knowing that this was the last morning she would spend with Cosette.

She clapped along with the guests as the newlyweds kissed at the alter, and helped throw rose petals in the air, shower the couple as they departed from the church, and Éponine watched as the petals fell, knowing that she, too, must fall, come morning.

They guests boarded a ship for the party afterwords, and Cosette danced with Éponine almost as much as she did with her husband, and Éponine danced with Marius as well, for he himself wanted to see the girl who danced like his wife. The poor fellow, though, couldn’t keep up with the two girls, so they both took one of his hands and they spun in a circle, laughing. If this was Éponine's last day, it was the best she could imagine having.

The night fell, and Cosette and her watched the sun set -- the last Éponine would ever see, and Cosette wrapped her arm around Éponine’s waist and pulled her close, kissing her cheek.

“My little love,” she said into Éponine’s ear. “I love you, and I am ever so glad you could be here to celebrate my happiness with us all.”

Éponine had to hold back a great sigh, and only let it out when the prince and princess went to the bridal chamber in the boat, the guests remaining on deck to celebrate. She stayed out, looking at the stars as the guests eventually departed, one by one, drunk on wine and sleepiness.

She was beginning to wonder what death felt like when she saw a few heads pop out of the water, and instantly recognized them as her friends, though all their hair was cut very short.

“We had to cut our hair to sell to the sea witch,” said Azelma as she swam to the ship, handing Éponine a long, silver dagger with a blood red handle. “The sea witch said if you stab the princess in the heart before the dawn breaks, you will become a mermaid again when her blood pools around your feet. Hurry, Éponine!” she warned. “The sun will be up in minutes. Please, hurry! We’re all sick with grief -- go, go!”

So Éponine went into the bridal chamber, her long, white fingers wrapped tightly around the knife. She could feel the grooves and patterns of the handle digging into her palm, but she did not care. Nothing felt worse than her heartbreak, not even her throbbing feet.

She opened the door carefully and crept in, seeing the sleeping couple, the moon pouring in over them through the window. Cosette was snuggled into Marius, her head upon his chest, her beautiful hair falling down her back. She was breathing deeply, peacefully. Éponine approached the bed, her heart racing, imagines of a dead, bloodied Cosette filling her mind. It was a terrible sight to imagine: Cosette with a dagger through her chest, blood spilling everywhere, onto Marius, pooling to Éponine’s feet. She could feel the warmth of the blood, and that terrified her so greatly that she was almost left paralyzed, the blade nearly falling from her loosened grip. 

She broke when Cosette uttered Marius’s name in her sleep, and Éponine knew, in her heart of hearts, she could do nothing -- would do nothing, to hurt Cosette. No matter what it cost Éponine, she would not do it.

With one last remorseful look at Cosette, she fled from the chamber just as the sun began to peek over the horizon, and she flung the dagger as far as she could into the water, and when the water rippled, it also bubbled violently and turned blood red as if the water itself had been stabbed.

Éponine watched the sun begin to rise, and, without one glance behind her, she sighed and threw herself off the side of the ship.

She did not feel herself hit the water; instead, she felt herself turn to sea foam. It was a strange feeling. It didn’t hurt, but her body instantly turned light and airy as if she were the bubbles from the dagger.

But then she opened her eyes, seeing figures above her, swirling over the ship and underneath the clouds. They were beautiful and whimsical looking, their laughter light and quiet, almost a whisper to those on earth who could not see them.

She felt herself float to these figures, and held out her hands to see that she, too, looked like the figures in the sky.

“Who are you?” Éponine asked as she met the first figure. “What am I doing here?”

The girl smiled. “We are daughters of the air,” she explained. “We have no immortal soul, as we were not human when alive. And though your physically body, as a mermaid, turned to sea foam, have become one of us. The daughters of the air can work three hundred years for an immortal soul by doing good deeds. We bring cool breezes to the south, where the warmth often kills. We bring healing and wellness as we fly, and carry the scent of flowers to all those who need it. And you, my poor little mermaid,” she said, resting her airy hand on Éponine’s cheek, “spent your life trying to do this, bringing love and loyalty and your suffering brought you here, as you used all your heart to bring happiness to the princess below. So you, too, will have an immortal soul, in time.”

Éponine stared at the spirit before her, then raised her wide blue eyes to the sun, finally knowing what it was like to have tears fill your eyes and roll down your cheeks.

Then she looked down again, and saw Cosette and Marius on their ship, Cosette calling over the side as if she understood what Éponine had done in the night, and she saw Marius hold her back from jumping, too, holding Cosette as she cried into his chest, her sweet face hidden from Éponine. She turned her gaze toward the see, where her family and friends where, and though she could not see them, she could feel their sorrow at losing her.

The spirit was watching her, a sad smile upon her face. Éponine turned to her and nodded.

“I am ready now,” Éponine said softly, taking the hand the spirit held out. “I am ready to bring peace and happiness to the earth. Let us go now,” she added, “there is much suffering below us. I, of all spirits, would know.”


End file.
